Chapter 44
CHAPTER 44
‘ D i, you look terrible,’ I said. ‘Even in the dark.’
‘Don’t ask, just walk.’
‘Is there anything?—’
‘NO! Tell me what’s been happening in your life.’
‘My life is one long series of humiliations, but you already know that. I met Arnaud’s girlfriend last night.’
Diane turned and stared.
‘Arnaud and I were having a drink at this bar after work. Anyway, she practically accused me of having an affair with him. It was awful. I felt lower than an ant.’
‘What did I tell you? These so-called harmless flirtations…’
‘Why do I keep messing up my life? I seem to do it so well.’
‘Kate, your life isn’t messy. Are you getting divorced?’
‘Not yet.’ I paused. ‘How about I take Tom for the weekend. Gus would love it.’
‘Thanks, but after soccer tomorrow, David and I are taking Nina and Tom up the coast for the night to David’s parents’ home. Family bonding. Talking about Christmas.’
‘No Sam and Oliver? ’
‘Nope, they’ll be with their mother. I’m dreading the next couple of days. His parents aren’t fans.’
I thought of giving her my Conversation Starters cards but stopped myself. ‘Good luck.’
‘I’ll need it. The only good news is that they live two hours north, one block from the beach.’ She exhaled. ‘I saw my therapist yesterday, and she advised me to look at my life like it was a pie.’
‘What kind? Apple, cherry?’
Diane was not amused.
I completed our walk thinking about what Di’s therapist had told her and trying to picture my life as though it were a pie. I visualised serving up slices – for the kids, Matthew, my photography, other family members. Pretty soon I ran out of pie. Perhaps the fact I had no pie left for myself was the reason I was cranky and a bad mother. Surely there had to be some pie for me. But then I imagined explaining to Matthew – honey, there’s not enough pie for me. He’d tell me to buy another one. (He knew I’d never bake it.)
Still, there was never enough pie to go around.
‘Katie, how much longer are you staying at the magazine?’ Matthew asked at breakfast.
‘Until Christmas week. Why?’ I was sipping coffee, not paying attention. ‘You never know, I might be offered a permanent position.’
‘You hate food photography.’
‘Food photography is better than no photography, Matt. And it’s a way back into the industry.’
‘I wish you’d make up your mind.’
For the briefest of moments, I thought he might be going to say something more. Confess something. He looked distraught. What did he want to tell me? Nothing, as it happened. He turned and the moment was lost.
‘Morning,’ Coco said when I walked into the building.
Was it still only morning? Friday seemed to have stretched for hours already.
‘Mara’s back,’ Coco continued. ‘Behind closed doors in the meeting room with Fern and Graeme.’
No embellishments or clever speak.
I spent the morning preparing for the extra shots Fern wanted photographed at Palm Beach and thinking about how I needed to get my life in order, but felt lost… alone. Still, as Kurt Cobain once said, wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are.
I needed to accept that and find my spirit again, my passion for life and family. But where to start? Matthew believed I was unloving and uncompromising; Lexi insisted I was out to ruin her life; and my friends? Well, they used to think I was fun, or at least had a hint of a personality. But now, who knew? Apart from Di, who I walked with, I didn’t have time for friends.
Sometimes, I coveted a complete change to my life, to become a new person, but most of the time, I just wanted to be satisfied with the life I was living… the life I had. Happy with my husband and children, and take great photos, that’s what I really wanted. To reclaim my passion. But then photography made me think about Sarah and her bogus book.
Fern had asked me what action I was taking against Sarah. Matthew had asked the same question. But I didn’t know. Sarah’s book was out there, published for the world to see. I knew the photo was mine and was furious she’d stolen it from me, but I didn’t have the energy to battle yet another person. But I knew I needed to find my fighting spirit because I was damn sure I wasn’t going to let Sarah get away with stealing my work.
I sat at the utilities desk drinking lukewarm coffee and staring out the window at the city street activity below: a world full of street eaters and coffee carriers, scurrying to work, to catch a bus or to eat at a café. Where I lived, no one scurried anywhere except at five thirty in the morning when they power-walked with dogs and friends. Suburbia. A place where people eked out an existence once they acquired two or more children. And once there, were locked in until the kids left home or you died. Whichever came first.
‘Heard anything?’ I asked Coco on my way out. There was still no sign of the three of them despite Coco hovering around the closed door with an empty glass and a very red ear.
‘Not a peep,’ she said. ‘It’s vexatious! I hate missing out.’
I smiled. Vexing indeed.